


Handmaiden

by indigo_inks



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Bathing/Washing, F/F, Hair-pulling, Loyalty Kink, Service Top, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24660889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_inks/pseuds/indigo_inks
Summary: Sabé knows exactly what Padmé needs.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Sabé
Comments: 2
Kudos: 52
Collections: The First Annual Femslash Kink Exchange 2020





	Handmaiden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skatzaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/gifts).



Sabé buries one hand in Padmé’s long, thick hair and yanks her head back. “You like that?” she asks, a hot-breathed whisper into the shell of Padmé’s ear.

Padmé moans wordlessly and presses harder into Sabé. Sabé, intimately familiar with all her most secret signals after so many years of study, of almost constant contact, obliges with another quick series of sharp thrusts of her hips. Padmé’s eyelashes flutter, and her mouth hangs open. The pink tip of her tongue touches her teeth; she is panting. Sabé reaches around with her free hand, skimming over top of Padmé’s heaving belly and down between her legs, stroking the swollen projection of Padmé’s clitoris while the large prosthetic penis strapped to Sabé’s hips does the work of stroking Padmé on the inside.

However much they may look enough alike to be twin sisters, Sabé and Padmé are nevertheless not the same. Of the two them, only Padmé has the sort of psyche which demands passionate, violent sexual release on the regular in order to function in polite society. Without these sessions, she becomes careless, becomes irritable. She stops functioning at top form. And if there is one thing that their beautiful, beloved homeworld of Naboo can ill afford, it is a Padmé Amidala who is working at anything less than her best.

And so, in the course of her duties, Sabé has learnt exactly how to give Padmé what she needs. To Sabé’s mind, Padmé deserves no less. She pushes harder and faster, harder and faster, until she too is panting with exertion. The nerf-leather straps which secure the prosthesis to Sabé’s groin rub pleasantly between her folds and against her own clitoris, but the friction is not enough to make her come. It doesn’t matter, anyway; she’s too focused on Padmé’s pleasure, on the angles and the stretch and the spots that will make Padmé scream—

One last, perfectly placed thrust, and Padmé begins to scream. Sabé hangs on tight, prosthesis buried to the hilt, while Padmé’s flails and writhes. The violence of her orgasms exceeds even the violence which she needs applied to her in order to achieve them. Some of them have resulted in injury to Sabé – the black eye she’d received that one time from Padmé’s elbow was most memorable, and it’d taken goddess only knows how many extra layers of makeup to conceal it – and therefore Sabé knows to keep a tight grip on her while she’s in the throes of it all.

On this occasion, that means using her weight to her advantage, torso pressed firmly against the warm, sweaty expanse of Padmé’s back, her breasts crushed between them as she drives her into the plush mattress. She uses her hands, meanwhile, to grip Padmé’s wrists like manacles and her legs to trap Padmé’s legs between her own, and she keeps herself fully seated inside Padmé, for she knows the orgasm will not be maximally satisfying if Padmé doesn’t have the prothesis to clamp down upon during the fiercest of her orgasmic contractions.

Eventually, though, as it inevitably does, the erotic fury subsides, and Sabé places a tender kiss at the nape of Padmé neck and eases herself gently out. Then, while Padmé dozes in the afterglow, she unstraps the prothesis and its harness from her own hips, cleans it thoroughly, and puts it away. Only after she’s finished does she awaken Padmé.

“It’s time for your bath,” she says.

* * *

The baths are adjacent to the bedchamber and situated on a private veranda with a resplendent view of the Falls. It never ceases to take Sabé’s breath away, no matter how often she has been privileged to enjoy it. The late afternoon light is a mellow yellow, and the sky is a saturated, cloudless blue.

Padmé’s tenure as a member of the Galactic Senate is scheduled to commence soon, upon which she will be expected take up permanent residence on Coruscant. Sabé’s portfolio of responsibilities, meanwhile, requires that she remain behind on Naboo. As such, this may well be their last sojourn in the Lake Country together for the foreseeable future.

“What will you do?” Sabé asks. She refers to the sex, but she doesn’t say so.

“I don’t know,” Padmé replies. She understands exactly what is meant by the question, and she has always been refreshingly honest with Sabé. “At least I’ll always have you when I return to Naboo.”

Sabé does not reply to this. She cannot dispel her concerns, but really, there is nothing to say. And remaining on Naboo is not an option for Padmé. “Shall I help bathe you?” Sabé asks instead.

“Yes, and please join me.”

She washes Padmé’s hair first, soaping the same locks that she had so recently pulled in passion. She lingers on Padmé’s hair longer than strictly necessary, too – working the roots of any residual oil and grime and massaging Padmé’s skull as she goes.

After that, she combs Padmé’s wet strands out straight and piles the damp hair neat and high on her head. Then she pins it back, which gives her exfoliating sponge unobstructed access to the rest of Padmé’s beautiful, unblemished skin.

Sabé runs the sponge down Padmé’s neck, along the slope of her shoulders, and down the graceful bow of her spine. Padmé sighs, enjoying both the floral fragrance of the lather and the rough scrape of the sponge. Her fingers dip beneath the surface of the water and reach unerringly between Sabé’s legs. This, too, is a part of their routine. She rubs Sabé’s clitoris while Sabé brings the sponge around to minister Padmé front, working the mounds of her breasts and the planes of her belly with this other instrument of pleasure.

Pleasing Padmé pleases Sabé – there is nothing in the great, wide galaxy that pleases her more – and the gentle flick of Padmé’s wise fingers is exactly what Sabé needs. She clenches her teeth and stiffens as the tension within her starts to build to its natural climax.

Sabé’s last act before succumbing to her orgasm is to slide the sponge between Padmé’s legs. The delicious scrape of it provides just enough pleasurable pain to throw her over the precipice as well. They finish together, one another’s mirror until the very end.


End file.
